imbalance
by astarisms
Summary: he's lost so much more than he bargained for.


He stumbles when he stands, but he doesn't think anything of it. Both the gashes on his back and her reaction to his presence burn.

 _She doesn't remember_. _She doesn't remember. She doesn't remember._

It's a hard pill to swallow. He almost prefers the one Death had offered up.

All his energy goes to chasing her, pushing back the black that crowds the edges of his vision and forcing down the bile that rises in his throat and blinking back the tears that gather in his eyes.

His back is proof that he's irredeemable, unfixable, unsaveable.

But she's not. The ache between his shoulder blades is evidence of how far he'll go for her.

They're festering already, he can feel it. He thinks about how he would heal himself if he wasn't so exhausted, before he remembers that his wings had been his last connection to Heaven.

He doesn't even have that small reprieve anymore. He's going to have to heal the old fashioned way.

The thought makes him shudder, and the shudder makes him wince.

"It's COLD!" Natalie screams from the lake, and while he planned on letting her wash alone, he has an idea. He wonders if the water will do any good in extinguishing the fire blazing down his back, at least for a little while.

His world tilts as he rises to his feet, and he has to steady himself against the trunk of a tree. None of his previous wounds have ever left him this disoriented, and if he were anyone else he'd pray for the effects to wear off sooner rather than later.

Instead, he grits his teeth and joins her in the lake.

It's hard to adjust. He's not used to the unnatural quiet from her. He's not used to nursing a wound this long.

He thinks he's healing. The twin gouges aren't as painful unless he stretches them, and when he does, he can't feel them split open wide anymore. He thinks his skin is beginning to stitch itself back together, but he's too afraid to look.

He tries to focus on other things, instead. Like fixing Natalie, who still walks on eggshells around him. She laughs nervously and she sweats when he gets too close and she tenses when he tries to talk to her.

If he'd wanted a Kristi, he wouldn't have gone through so much trouble to get Natalie back.

But this is where they're at and she's doing homework she's missed, keeping her eyes resolutely on her paper and pretending she's not acutely aware of the Devil lingering in her room.

"I'm going to get a brownie," he announces as he gets up, and tries to ignore how she jumps. "You want anything?"

"N-No, thank you…"

He makes it outside her door, barely, before he has to catch himself on the wall. He's healing, but the unsteadiness lingers.

He doesn't know why.

He's indescribably angry. No one sees, but the reality of it is still humiliating as he pulls himself off the ground at the bottom of the stairs and dusts himself off as he waits for Natalie outside of her school.

It's been a couple of weeks and he's still having trouble standing or walking. Vertigo has been his new best friend since…

The bell rings, and he looks up.

Natalie is flanked by Laila and Kristi, the latter of which glares when she sees him. Natalie smiles at him, but it's weak.

It's not the splitting grin he's used to, and the third wound he harbors flares. This hole burns worse than either of the ones on his back, and he wonders how long he'll have to live with the repercussions.

He knows it doesn't matter. He'd make the same choice again.

He just wishes he'd known that there was more he was sacrificing than his wings.

Waiting around while she's at school is either the best and worst part of his day, and he can't decide which one it is.

On the one hand, the house is eerily quiet. On the other, it's quiet when she's home, too.

Objectively, the latter is worse.

On the one hand, he doesn't have to deal with her anxiety around him. On the other, he has to deal with his own about what could happen to her when she's away.

He doesn't have anything left to give, and that kid draws trouble like a magnet. Or maybe… maybe it's him that draws trouble, and she's just the one always caught in the crossfire.

Maybe…

He shakes his head and turns the volume on the television up, hoping to drown out his thoughts. It's hard though, when he realizes it's approaching May and his days have been off kilter for almost a month.

Physically unsteady and on an emotional fuckin' rollercoaster. He's more of a mess than he's ever been, and the History Channel can't stop his reflections.

It settles like a brick in his gut.

He doesn't know why it's taken so long for him to realize. Blindsided by everything else that's happened, is his best guess, or maybe he's just an idiot.

It should have been obvious. When a part of you is taken, you're thrown off balance.

He should have never taken the most important parts of himself for granted. His wings and her friendship were gone, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever find his footing again.


End file.
